


feel the feeling taking over

by braille_upon_my_skin



Series: the world we're gonna make [5]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: "Barnum is, indeed, ashowmanin every sense of the word. He lives toperform, and his currentperformancehas Phillip coming undone under his fingertips."





	feel the feeling taking over

 

\-----

 

At first, he cannot place what it is that's disturbed his slumber. His brain has slipped from its state of restfulness, cognizance creeping upon him, slithering into his serenely inanimate limbs and bringing with it an unwelcome reminder that Phillip Carlyle is, indeed, a person, rather than an amorphous, freely wandering consciousness.

As his personhood continues to proclaim itself, Phillip discerns a scuffing sort of noise, almost as if feet are…

"God's sake, stop _pacing_ ," he groans. Rolling over, he reluctantly blinks his eyes open to a dark room. The only source of illumination permitting him to study his surroundings is an oil lamp on a table nearby.

Yet, even without the flickering orange light of the fire inside the lantern, he would recognize the sound of Phineas Barnum tracing his usual cyclical path across the bedroom floor.

The confounded man's sleeping habits are as unconventional as everything else about him; restlessly pacing and the gears of his mind ceaselessly turning, coming up with an abundance of godforsaken ideas that are certain to leave Phillip with a headache and stress knots manifesting in his neck and shoulders.

At an hour when any sane man would be soundly in the midst of a full night's rest.

"Picture it," Barnum declares, seemingly ever unfazed by basic human necessities, such as a need for _sleep_. "We take the show onboard a ship! Or, a locomotive."

Phillip groans again, with more vigor. His mind is much too clouded to parse the harebrained and fantastical proposals being lobbed at him a mile a minute. "Do you have any idea how _late_ it is?"

Barnum continues on, undeterred, an enlivened smile on his face, "We travel 'round the world and share our collection of exceptional peculiarities with _everyone_." The floorboards creak under his quickening strides, excitement and eagerness flooding his voice. "Show them something they've never seen before, open their eyes to a world outside of the shortsighted and orthodox lifestyles they're-- !"

Phillip has heard enough rousing speeches. It's too late, too early, too _much_ for him to handle. "Barnum," he orders- or tries to, it honestly sounds like more of a whine- in a voice thick with sleep, attempting to focus on the older man with eyes that refuse to fully open, "if you don't get your ass back in this bed, I'll take it upon myself to smother you with my pillow." 

That frustrating, damningly attractive, terribly _stimulating,_ roguish grin quirks the corners of Barnum's mouth.

Phillip nearly hefts a pillow at him at the emergence of it.

"I suppose my proposals can wait until daylight." Barnum feigns admonishment, but Phillip knows that the showman will never be dissuaded.

And, a part of him admires Barnum for it equally as much as it exasperates him.

The bed dips as Barnum rejoins him, and Phillip feels his body pulled against the older man's, kisses being littered along his neck, on the first vertebrae of his spine right above the collar of his nightshirt. His vexed and disgruntled groans quickly transfigure into low, pleased moans that rumble at the back of his throat. His frustration takes on a flustered shade. A _titillated_ hue.

A familiar sensation always conjured into being by Barnum dances up and down his chest, winding, coiling, constricting with impossible _heat_ around his stomach, then spilling into his pelvis, where it concentrates in his groin. "The answer will still be no," he gets out, resisting the urge to give into Barnum's whims with his last rapidly dissipating shred of sense.

A hum and a, "We'll see about that", is Barnum's only response.

Phillip _should_ have smacked him with a pillow.

He is trying his damnedest to drift back off to sleep and stave off the headache sure to come with the morning light- and ignore the nagging desire his body _pulse_ s with- when hands lift up his shirt. They slip down his front, dragging intentionally over his abdominal muscles and naval, leaving sparks that embed themselves deep in his epidermis in their wake. Then, they pause at his waist, stoking the flames they've ignited with fingers rapping rhythmically against the extremely _receptive_ skin, and… _Oh. Oh,_ ** _damn_** _it_.

"You are _unbelievable_ ," he moans, uncertain if it's meant to be scolding or complimentary even as the words leave his mouth.

"Thank you," Barnum says, chuckling, evidently having decided which one for the both of them. His warm breath ghosts over Phillip's neck almost _tauntingly_.

Phillip's face burns, flushing scarlet, he's sure, as he arches, unable to help himself, into Barnum's hands. He inclines his neck to allow Barnum's mouth, which is toying, licking, sucking biting, with the _also_ damningly sensitive skin, there, better access. He feels rapid breaths flutter against the hollow of his throat.

Barnum presses the full of his body weight into Phillip's backside, an outstanding and _specific_ heat digging into the area just above Phillip's rear, and Phillip melts into the mattress, moaning loudly. Heat and lust disperse through his body until thinking and _sense_ become too much of a chore to be bothered with.

He decides, rolling over to meet his partner's mouth with his own, to savor Barnum's method of persuasion, _now_ , and deal with the repercussions, l _ater_.

 

.x.

 

Arranging finances, setting aside funds for straw, wood shavings, feed for the animals, props, costumes, working out a schedule for the coming week. Accounting. Numbers, numbers, _numbers_.

Phillip rubs at his temples, feeling a migraine setting in. _Language_ is his forte. Weaving prose, penning compelling monologues, biting satire, soliloquies and genre-defying dramatic twists meant to leave an impact on an audience that would last long after they left the theater. He is gifted with _words_ , not numbers and their concrete values that cannot be further explored or altered beyond what they already are, and their complete lacking in any ability to incite an emotion other than panic and despair when they plummet to a certain range.

Money was nothing more to Phillip than a means of sustaining his lifestyle and procuring all of the liquor he could get his hands on. No matter the flavor, alcohol was often his sole companion as he slogged through his previous life in an enervated malaise. It was the only thing that got him through late night writing sessions that tended to culminate in him laughing scornfully at an aimless script before aborting the narrative entirely, casting the crumpled up sheet of paper aside, and taking a long swig to wash away the bitter taste of failure.

Perhaps he _is_ the most business savvy amongst the circus troupe, as he _did_ have the sense to store his ten percent of the show's earnings away when he was first hired on, but he has seen enough zeroes and decimal points to make his head spin. Tension is knotting his shoulders, and he _itches_ for a drink--

Hands come down on him, out of the blue, and his body gives a sharp jolt, his heart skipping into palpitations. He turns to find Barnum behind him, peering over his head to observe his progress.

"You look like you've had a long day," the man comments.

"And it's only _noon_ ," Phillip responds dryly, his mind spouting off a curse at the reminder.

"Sounds to me like you're long past due for a break."

"P.T., these figures aren't going to-- " A soft grunt rising in Phillip's throat cuts him off. Barnum is squeezing- no, _massaging_ his shoulders. "What are you… ?" He starts. The room spins beneath his feet just enough to make him feel slightly off-balance, slightly delirious.

"You ask too many questions," Barnum says. The tone of his voice- coaxing, silky, _seductive_ \- already has heat racing through the length of Phillip's body. "Don't fight it," he whispers. His hands knead at the base of Phillip's neck, fingers waltzing up to rub at the area behind Phillip's ears.

Phillip tries his best to resist, to be the last bastion of reason at the helm of the circus and take his responsibilities _seriously_ , _but_ …

"Just _embrace it_."

The words are uttered right against the shell of his ear, and he surrenders in an instant, his resolve crumbling as if on command.

A moan oozes out of Phillip as Barnum kneads into his muscle tissue, titillating and provoking nerves that no one else has ever so much as discovered. He tilts his head to the side, feeling the striking of a match in the lowest part of his stomach. "Mm, Phineas, you…"

" _You_ may have the tightest shoulders I've ever seen," Barnum marvels, and Phillip can tell without facing him that he's shaking his head. "You're too young to be carrying all of this tension."

"Hm, am I, now?" Phillip is liquefying; he's a coil unwinding in Barnum's hands, and rapture and exhilaration blossom within him, fueling the flame in his gut. Dryly, he muses, heat trickling down, down, down, "Sometimes I feel as though I'm an old man inhabiting a much younger man's body."

"Well," Barnum expels a breathy laugh. "You certainly give one that impression."

Phillip's lips twitch into a smirk truncated by more moaning as Barnum's ministrations sojourn lower, the tips of his fingers caressing Phillip's collarbone and his thumbs kneading circular patterns into Phillip's shoulder blades.

"But, you're too easy on the eyes, much too robust and spirited to be a humdrum old man." Aside from the "easy on the eyes", portion, the words are not all that different from those Barnum employs on anyone he sinks his claws of fascination into. Compliments, flattery, charm- enough to swim in.

Jenny Lind called him a "scoundrel" for his effortless persuasion, his unrivaled ability to reel people in and captivate even his most vocal detractors.

_"Scoundrel" is a misnomer_ , Phillip thinks. Barnum is, indeed, a _showman_ in every sense of the word. He lives to _perform_ , and his current _performance_ has Phillip coming undone under his fingertips.

"Don't be afraid to loosen up a little," Barnum goes on, the pitch of his voice lowering, thrumming on wavelengths surrounding Phillip's heart. He presses into Phillip's shoulder blade with his thumb and Phillip leans into the touch, growling at the back of his throat. "Let go of those reservations."

"More persuasion," Phillip notes, his voice low, soft, as he sits somewhere between amused and _very_ impressed. "You're a man of many talents." His eyes shut halfway, his flesh tingling and burning and goosebumps stippling every one of his hair follicles. There is an ache forming at his core, one that is yawning and wants and _needs_ with single-mindedness, and the temptation to shove all of the paperwork off of the desk and lie, prostrate, on top of it, inviting Barnum to mount him, increases by the moment.

Barnum's teeth graze the shell of Phillip's ear as he promises hotly, "There's more where that came from."

It catches Phillip so off-guard, his mind flooded automatically with lurid images of what that promise entails, that he grasps, feebly, at the arms of the chair as his cock _jerks_ to life. "God, _Phin_ \-- !" He gasps. "We _can't,_ here." Though he wants to. With every fiber of his being, he _wants_ to.

"No?" Barnum sounds almost _disappointed_ , and Phillip's dizzyingly intense arousal has him ready to spin the chair around and pull Barnum against him, crush their lips together, forget every wall, every cage.

But… they're at _work_ , for God's sake.

"Then, consider that a preview." His voice a sensuous growl, right into Phillip's ear, Barnum nuzzles into Phillip's hair and adds, "Until I can have you all to myself." With that, he has the _nerve_ to walk out of the office, that horrible smirk playing across his lips, leaving Phillip flustered, piqued, and, incredibly, unfortunately _aroused_.

Phillip touches a hand uselessly to the front of his trousers, then heaves out a sigh and slumps into the chair. "These figures aren't going to ration themselves out," he mutters to the empty room.

 

.x.

 

Pleasuring himself is something that Phillip hasn't felt a need to do in a long time. Excessive indulgence in whisky, an abundance of misery, and frequent blackouts are a recipe not conducive to _any_ sort of sex life- an autoerotic one most definitively not.

So much as removing his trousers proved more of a hassle than it was worth when he stumbled, already half-asleep on his feet, into his accommodations to pass out on the nearest surface. Lust and a desire for flesh-based fulfillment were the furthest thing from his mind in those moments.

As always, it is _Barnum_ who convinces him to discard the conventions of his former life, to challenge himself, to dream and strive for more.

Thus, it is _Barnum_ he thinks of as he unbuckles his belt and slips his hand into his trousers.

Barnum pinning him down, dominating him as he dominates every stage he has ever set foot on. Barnum's heat and passion being driven into him with every sharp, powerful thrust of the man's body. Barnum's voice growling into his ear, his breath hot on the back of Phillip's neck.

The motion of Phillip's hand quickens, gasps rising out of him as he bites at his lip to contain the moans that hit the back of his throat, wanting and eager to spill out of his mouth. It is Barnum's name on his lips when he comes, and he extracts his hand to stare at the pearly, viscous evidence of the effect the older man, the walking scandal, the one who gave him a home and a family and a _purpose_ , has on him.

" _Christ_ ," he breathes out.

He feels cold and hollow as he curls up, still dressed in his soiled clothing, to sleep alone; satiated but decidedly unsatisfied.

_Dreams,_ he reflects, _are simply not_ ** _enough_**.

 

.x.

 

High-pitched, girlish giggles reach Phillip's ears.

He exits the bookstore and feels a smile spreading across his face at the sight of Barnum and his daughters, Caroline and Helen, strolling down the cobbled street, Caroline's hand in her father's, and Helen riding on the man's shoulders.

Helen glances up from messing with Barnum's top hat, pushing it down, over his eyes, to exclaim, her eyes stretching wide with delight, "Daddy, it's Phillip!"

"Phillip!" Caroline calls out, beaming. She makes a move toward him, but her younger sister beats her to the punch, scrambling from their father's shoulders to rush Phillip.

Phillip feels the wind knocked out of him as the tiny blond girl wraps her arms around his waist. "Hello to you, too," he grunts. He smiles down at Helen and swings her into a spin, only to meet Caroline halfway through as she reaches them, at last, quivering with giddiness.

"Will you be coming to my next ballet recital?" She asks, bouncing on her toes.

"What's that book about? Does it teach you how to run a circus?" Helen chimes in, tugging at Phillip's second and third fingers on his right hand as she tries to peer at the hard-backed tome he just purchased.

"Girls, let's take it easy on poor Phillip," Barnum says with an indulgent chuckle, signaling his approach. His eyes are warm as they sweep over his daughters and land on Phillip.

Phillip's breath hitches. He lets Helen pull at his arm as an acute, puncturing sensation of longing drops from his heart into his stomach, sending ripples fanning throughout the rest of him like a heavy stone plunked into a pond.

"He was injured not too long ago," Barnum reminds the girls, but the air of caution, the _falter_ to his voice, and the concern gleaming in his eyes, pulling at his brow-line and adding creases to his forehead, suggest that the reminder is equally as much for _himself_.

"I'm fine," Phillip assures him, his heart pitching off-center. He is unaccustomed to someone being so concerned with his safety; to _anyone_ wanting to _protect_ him. He smiles for good measure, praying the assurance resonates, and ruffles a giggling Helen's hair. 

Barnum's eyes linger on him, searching his face for any traces of doubt and uncertainty, no matter how small; any _proof_ to contradict Phillip's certitude.

Phillip meets that stare, hoping to relay with his eyes that there is no doubt, uncertainty, or deception to be found. "I was born into a life of privilege and luxury, but," he says, slowly, intentionally, _meaningfully_ , "I'm _robust_ enough to handle some minor discomfort, every now and then."

Barnum's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Slowly, a smile breaks out on his face, and his eyes shine with understanding.

Phillip cocks an eyebrow and nods, once, to confirm that he can handle anything and everything _the other side_ holds for him, and is, as a matter of fact, more than _eager_ to experience it.

"See, daddy?" Helen looks to her father, her expression and tone of voice teasing. "It's like mommy says; you worry too much."

Phillip shoots Barnum a smile, and Barnum returns it, shrugging in good-humored acceptance of his daughter's, and by extension, his wife's, astute observation.

"Phillip?" Caroline calls again, softer.

Barnum's gaze shifts to his eldest daughter, and Phillip follows suite, turning to regard the willowy brunette girl.

"You'll come to my next recital, won't you?" Caroline's eyes are pleading, and Phillip deems saying no to her as difficult as refusing her father… _anything_.

"It would be my _pleasure_ to see New York's finest prima ballerina," he answers, taking her hand and dipping at the waist into a slight bow.

Caroline's eyes sparkle fiercely as she beams, her smile bright as her father's.

And, the look that Barnum gives Phillip, brimming and glowing with undisguised affection, what may even be _love_ , makes Phillip's heart swell until it feels as though it might burst.

 

.x.

 

They leave the tent huddled, perhaps, _too_ close together. But, the crowds of people passing them on the sidewalks as they exit the carriage and finish the journey to Phillip's apartment on foot, beneath the dim glow of the street lamps, are too engrossed in their own business, troubles, and affairs to pay them much mind.

Phillip is tipsy with leftover pulses of exhilaration from watching Barnum perform. His eyes were riveted on the ringmaster the entire show, even as other spectacles, such as fire juggling, lion taming, and Anne and W.D. leaping from the trunks of the elephants to take hold of their trapeze in mid-air, an admittedly dazzling maneuver, took center ring. His attention was held raptly by each bold move, every emphatic and authoritative step, twirl of the cane, flash of light shimmering across the gold gilding adorning the front of Barnum's vivid red ringmaster's coat, striking even amongst other bursts of bright color.

He was caught up in the fervor of the audience, and when Barnum threw his arms out wide, his voice crescendoing to ring throughout the arena, Phillip's insides took flight and only came back down to Earth when applause swelled around him.

Barnum may have taken a few steps back from the show, a brief intermission here and there to focus on his other family, but everyone knows that he cannot stay away. He has found his niche, and claims it every time he steps out from the shadows and into the ring.

They enter Phillip's room. Barnum kicks the door shut, sealing them in their own space, their own world. The locks click into place and any remaining distance between the two of them ceases to exist.

Phillip presses his nose into the crook of Barnum's neck, and laughs, drunk off of Barnum's presence. "You smell like peanuts."

There is a beat of silence, just long enough for Phillip to wonder if he has made a mistake, and then Barnum's hands are clutching at the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a searing, ravaging kiss.

Phillip stumbles backward blindly until he hits a wall. He hardly notices the dull throb of muted pain. Barnum is _attacking_ him, kissing and biting at Phillip's mouth, sucking hard enough to leave marks on the point of Phillip's pulse, the whole of his solid, powerful form pressing into Phillip as though he wishes to eradicate all persisting barriers between them. A frighteningly _loud_ and pleased moan wells out of Phillip's throat as his hands seek purchase on the back of Barnum's overcoat, tugging at it, attempting to drag it down Barnum's shoulders to remove it.

Barnum's fingers fly down the buttons of Phillip's waistcoat, work at untying his tie, and he can't be rid of them fast enough.

"Ohh, Phin," Phillip moans, intoxicating, salacious fire igniting on every inch of his skin.

" _Phillip_ ," Barnum growls in response. Their noses brush together, the soft cartilage tips mashing into each other as Barnum reels Phillip into another impassioned kiss. He slides Phillip's overcoat down his arms and tugs him out of it, leaving it pinned against the wall behind them.

Phillip finally manages to work Barnum's overcoat away from his chest, and Barnum offers him a hand in removing it, shrugging out of it and shaking it off of his arms before reattaching his mouth to Phillip's throat.

All that Phillip can feel is Barnum's teeth, the wet, hot, suction of Barnum's mouth on his pulse, his heart pounding in his chest and Barnum's own heartbeat racing against it, in time with it, as their chests are pressed together, and intense heat exploding in his stomach, _engulfing_ it.

He is _euphoric_. His body _sings_.

"God, _yes_ ," he gasps, torn between feeling along the wall to regain a sense of balance as his legs feel like they're going to give way, and yanking Barnum's shirt out of the waistband of his trousers.

"You've wanted this for so long," Barnum says, his voice rasping, vibrating in his throat with desire. He rips Phillip's waistcoat open, and Phillip's body temperature spikes excitedly at the realization that there is only one more layer standing between his skin and Barnum. And, Good Lord, he wants Barnum _all over him_. "You've been _desperate_ for it, haven't you?"

"God, P.T., Ph- _Phin_ , ohhh." Their hips grind together as Barnum pops open the buttons on Phillip's shirt to nip at his collarbone. His hands, cold from the chilled winter air outside, drag over the burning skin on Phillip's chest, the pads of his thumbs stroking the dusting of hair on Phillip's pectorals, flicking over Phillip's nipples.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Phillip. Do you want me to give you this?" Barnum's length, hard, thick, and impossibly _hot_ , presses against Phillip's thigh, and Phillip sucks in air so rapidly, he nearly chokes.

"Yes," he says when he recovers his voice. "Phineas, God, fuck, _please_."

Before Phillip can react, Barnum captures his lips in a last intense kiss, his tongue swiping over Phillip's lower lip as he breaks off, then, Phillip is being swept up, _carried_ to his bed. He is deposited onto it, bouncing lightly as he hits the mattress, and Barnum is right on top of him when he stills.

Just like he wanted. Has been wanting. Madly, _desperately_.

Barnum's hands seize Phillip's wrists and tug them up, holding them in place above Phillip's head.

The ache at Phillip's core is more intense than it has ever been.

He stares into Barnum's eyes, darkened with a feral lust that sets Phillip's insides trembling, as Barnum's face hovers, mere inches away. The eye-contact lasts for a long moment, intense and somehow raw, exposing more than Phillip believes he has ever shown anyone, than he thinks he has ever seen of the notorious showman, and Phillip feels himself liquefying and coming undone all over again. "Phineas," he breathes, "I… "

"Shh." Eyes fluttering closed, Barnum leans in and brushes the tip of his nose against Phillip's. He loosens his grip on Phillip's wrists, only one hand holding them in place, now, and shifts down.

Phillip soon finds out why, when the heel of Barnum's free hand presses into his crotch.

He almost shouts. His hips twitch up, his dick straining at the material, _begging_ for attention.

"This is for me, isn't it?" Barnum asks, his voice throaty. "You're this hard for _me_."

" _Yes_ ," Phillip answers. His breaths rattle inside of his ribcage, so _loud_.

Something shifts in the air, and Barnum stares at Phillip through half-lidded eyes, his chest expanding and contracting with heavy, labored breaths. It's as if he is fighting to maintain his self-control, and Phillip almost calls him out on his hypocrisy. Barnum leans back in and draws a tentative hand over the scar etched into Phillip's side, a few inches below his ribs. He breathes out and his eyes flood with sudden tenderness that makes Phillip _ache_ as he's swallowed up in a ferocious tide of desire, and wanting, and _love_.

Then, Barnum runs his hand across Phillip's stomach to grip at his hipbone.

"Phin," Phillip says.

The hold on his wrist is abandoned completely as Barnum dives down, crushing the full length of his body against Phillip's. He kisses him hard, without restraint, and Phillip floods Barnum's mouth with feverish lascivious sounds. God, how he _wants_ this.

Barnum breaks off, moaning and growling, to bite into Phillip's neck, nuzzle a spot under Phillip's jaw, and touch every bit of the surface area of Phillip's chest, nails and fingertips scraping the oh-so sensitive and receptive skin.

Phillip writhes beneath him, wresting Barnum's shirt from his trousers, and scrambling with shaking hands to slide those trousers down.

"Phillip, _God_ ," Barnum expresses, breathless. "You just can't wait, can you?" There's a chuckle behind the question, low and amorous.

It sends a new wave of arousal jackknifing through Phillip. "Noooo," he moans out, thrusting up desperately. "I can't. I need _you_ , I _want you_. Phineas, shit. _God damn_."

Emitting a low, throaty sound, Barnum sits upright and orders Phillip, "Up. Come on."

Phillip obeys, cock throbbing at the authoritative tone of the ringmaster's voice. His shirt is yanked off, and the cold air hits his skin, a shock to the system worsened by his forming layer of sweat.

Barnum diverts Phillip's attention from the unappreciated change in temperature by grabbing his hands and placing them on the material of his own shirt. "Unbutton it."

Once more, Phillip is all too eager to comply, letting his fingers graze each new stretch of skin that he exposes. An idea occurs to him while watching the older man shiver, eyes closing, at the contact. As he reaches the final button, he bends down, face centimeters from the massive heated bulge in Barnum's dress slacks, and licks up, dipping his tongue into Barnum's navel, and up, once more, over the ridges of solid muscle on Barnum's abdomen, to the plate of his breastbone.

The responding hiss followed by an unfettered moan and fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at his scalp, only offer Phillip encouragement, drawing moans out of him.

"Phillip…!"

Phillip slips Barnum's shirt, at last, down his toned arms, and as soon as the sleeves slide over Barnum's hands to the floor, his face is seized roughly, Barnum cupping his chin and forcing Phillip's eyes to his.

"I'm going to claim you," he promises, already devouring Phillip with his dark, unfathomably intense gaze. "You're _mine_."

Everything after that is a barrage of hands, tangling, probing tongues, gnashing teeth, muscle sliding and rubbing together, and forceful, almost violent thrusts driving into Phillip with a strength that makes him feel like he's being pierced right through.

"Phineas, ohh, Phin! _Phin_!" He shouts, unabashedly, unable to control his volume if he wanted to.

Barnum is moaning as well, deeply, wildly, amplifying the heat in Phillip's body until it builds into a massive fire. He pulls Phillip's trousers down to his knees swiftly, easily, and commands him, gesturing to his own, "Take them off."

In his frenzy, Phillip struggles with the simple task, but the heat emanating from the protrusion right beside his hands, and the eager growls rumbling in Barnum's chest, are all the incentive that he needs to complete it. He feels a rush of triumph as he begins working Barnum's trousers down his thighs, revealing what he's wanted in all of its glory.

"Have you been with a man, before, Phillip?" Barnum asks.

"No," Phillip answers, breathing hard. Saliva floods his mouth and arousal gnaws at him, pleading for Barnum to plunge into him, size and girth be damned. "But, I've thought about it."

A number of times.

"Have you?" Barnum's lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes flashing, and Phillip's cock jumps. Silently, Barnum grabs Phillip's legs and spreads them. "So, you have some idea of what I have to do to prepare you?"

"'Prepare' me?" Phillip's brain is too hazy to comprehend the full extent of the question.

"Yes. Can't just slam into you, now, can I?"

"Oh God." Catching on, Phillip feels his stomach tighten with fear, and desire, molten and heavy, continuing to pool between his legs despite it. This _is_ what he's wanted, he reminds himself. He wants _everything_ _the other side_ has to offer him.

Barnum sticks two fingers into his mouth and they emerge, shining with moisture. Phillip watches with a mixture of confusion and intrigue as they lower to his waist, then slip between his legs, and- _oh_.

"Aah!" He gasps. "Phineas, f- _fuck_!" He grits his teeth, his entire body jerking upward, both arching into and shying away from the invasion stretching him, filling him.

"Phillip, relax," Barnum says softly. He wraps his unoccupied hand around Phillip's length, stroking the head in a feathery ghost of a touch. "I need you to tell me if it hurts. Can you do that for me?"

"I… " Phillip inhales, through his nose, hoping that breathing will clear his head and make it easier to accommodate what is entering him, to respond to his partner. "Yes." He nods, trembling as he exhales.

"Good." Slowly, Barnum slides his fingers part of the way out, then back in. He repeats this process, gradually picking up the pace, until the pain ebbs entirely, pleasure usurping it, and moans are welling in Phillip's throat and pouring out of his mouth. " _Good_ ," Barnum says again, emphatically, his voice husking and thick with ardor. He traces long, torturously slow strokes over Phillip's manhood. "Phillip, I'm going to ravage you," he says. "I'm going to make you come alive and come undone. Steal your mind away. Fuck you deeply and fill you like no one else ever has."

Phillip bites hard at his lower lip, his hips rocking along with the fingers thrusting in and out of him. Every promise spoken to him in those seductive, obscene tones fills him with a desperate need. To be unraveled.

Consumed.

_Claimed_.

"Do you want that?"

Barnum curls his finger and brushes against a nerve inside of Phillip that makes flashes of light explode behind Phillip's eyes, and Phillip whimper and reach out, blindly, desperately, to grab on to some part of the incredible man working him open and taking a sledgehammer to his walls, _demolishing_ them.

"Do you want me to take you? Tell me, Phillip."

"I do, yes. God, _fuck, yes_!" Phillip cries out. He feels as though he might burn alive if he doesn't get more. "I'm _yours_ , Phin. Take me. _Consume_ me." 

With a ravenous growl, Barnum removes his fingers and replaces them with something thicker and hotter and so much _bigger_.

Phillip's body shakes, his legs spread obscenely wide. He can handle it, though. He can take this key.

After giving Phillip a generous minute to adjust to the sweet agony of the change, Barnum draws back, then plows forward with enough force that his body bends, his chest pressing into Phillip's.

Phillip shouts, his voice breaking into something close to a shriek. It _hurt_ s. It hurts like hell. But, he's being _filled_. So impossibly, intoxicatingly, blissfully _full_. Barnum is _inside of him_ , and he loves it, is addicted to it and wants more. More. _More_. " _Phineas_!"

"Is that what you wanted? What you've been so desperate for?"

"P.T., Phin- _C-Christ_."

"I've wanted you since I first saw you at that party after Caroline's ballet recital. D'you know that? You caught my attention from across the room, and I _wanted_ you, Phillip." 

Phillip rocks into Barnum's thrusts, too far gone to manage any other response than a mindless moan, and cries that meld into a mantra of, "Phin. Phin. Oh God. God, fuck. Please. _Phin_ -e-- _yes_."

"Your blue eyes- the bluest eyes I've ever seen. My God, you're _breathtaking_." Barnum's voice shakes, his breaths coming out in sharp hisses. He is thrusting hard, filling Phillip like he wants to bury himself deep inside of him.

And, Phillip wants him to. His entire body is being devoured by a fire that wants, wants, wants every bit of Phineas Barnum that it can have.

"Now, you're _mine_. Aren't you?" Barnum is hitting that nerve over, and over again, and Phillip cries out, flinging his arms around the older man's neck. "Taking _all_ of me. God, _Phillip_. You're so _good_."

Their foreheads touch, and around the stars dancing, blazing bright white at the borders of his vision, Phillip makes eye-contact with Barnum. The ringmaster's eyes burn with passion under the wanton glaze over them, and knowing that it's because of _him_ , _for him_ , Phillip tightens his hold and clenches around Barnum, as if he could take him in deeper, _keep_ him there.

Barnum, who was holding onto the sides of the bed for leverage, relocates his hands to Phillip's shoulders, clinging to them, pressing into the skin as if he intends to leave an imprint on the bones beneath it as he emits a staggered, broken moan.

Underneath of this man-shaped force of nature, Phillip Carlyle is thrusting feverishly in a most undignified manner, half-mad with passion and need. He is unraveling, composure tossed to the wind as he is overcome with a carnal bliss that sears the whole of him from head to foot and pulls shameless moans and cries from deep within. 

And, he has never felt more _alive_.

With a last hitching gasp that crumples into a sob, time seems to stand still around them, and the fire reaches it apex. Everything inside of Phillip explodes into fireworks of pleasure and euphoria, and his eyes water, welling with tears.

A few moments later, Barnum calls out, "Phillip, _Phillip_!", desperately, his muscles tightening, then comes down as his final thrusts draw to a close. Viscid heat pulses between the point where their bodies are joined together.

Through ragged, laborious breaths, Barnum brushes a hand through Phillip's hair, fussing over him as he asks, "Are you all right? I wasn't too rough with you, was I?"

"No." Phillip uses what remains of his energy to shake his head. "It was… exactly what I expected from you. And," his body vibrates with an all-encompassing satisfaction as he hums, "exactly what I wanted. "

With a half-smile and relieved sigh, Barnum gathers Phillip's face into a kiss that Phillip blissfully returns. He breaks off to touch his lips to Phillip's forehead, soft and reverent, then settles down on top of him, resting his head on Phillip's shoulder. His curled locks of hair are soft against Phillip's cheek.

Another fire has ravaged their lives, but the exact opposite of destruction remains in the aftermath.

Phillip closes his eyes, breathing in Barnum's scent- heady, thick with sweat and sex and exhaustion. He lets himself simply _exist_  with the man, and Barnum seems content to do the same, lying still but for the shallow movements of his chest; tranquil, as he is so rarely.

Sleep is lapping at Phillip's body and consciousness in gentle, inviting waves, when Barnum says, "I had no idea you were capable of making sounds like that."

Heat rushes to Phillip's face. His eyes open, and he gives the man a nudge, trying to fight the grin he feels already burgeoning. "You know, I think I preferred you silent."

Barnum shifts upright. He holds himself aloft over Phillip, perching on bent elbows, and takes in Phillip's features with a grin, his eyes sparkling. "Ah-ha. _There's_ a smile. You should keep it, it's a good look on you."

There is no use fighting it. Phillip grins, broadly, and leans in to take Barnum's brazenly smiling mouth into a soft, languid kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing love scenes between these two comes surprisingly easy for me. I think it has something to do with my exposure to the wonderfully written and very _adult_ content created by the other exceedingly talented authors penning stories for this ship. 
> 
> To all of you, and to my readers, bless your hearts. And, Happy Valentine's Day.


End file.
